


upwards (and onwards)

by call_me_steve



Category: Onward (2020)
Genre: (slight) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barley Lightfoot Needs a Hug, Brotherly Bonding, Canon Rewrite, Gen, Good Older Sibling Barley Lightfoot, Protective Barley Lightfoot, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_steve/pseuds/call_me_steve
Summary: If you were to ask Barley about the quest he and his brother had taken, he’d start off by telling you that it all started when Ian finally pulled Dad’s old sweatshirt out of his closet.Ian, of course, would try to spin you a tale- all based on the letter that Wilden had left them with that magical staff. Maybe he’d talk about the day that Wilden Lightfoot passed away. Chances were that, in the end, Ian would always say, “I guess you could say that it really started because it was my sixteenth birthday.”Everyone always asked Ian about the quest, anyway, so he had room to switch up the story however he pleased.But, yes. Barley's sure that it all started with that too-soft sweatshirt, because if Barley hadn’t ripped its sleeve, then things might have gone different.-Or, Onward from Barley's point of view, with a few twists in the narrative.
Relationships: Barley Lightfoot & Ian Lightfoot, Barley Lightfoot & Laurel Lightfoot
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	upwards (and onwards)

**Author's Note:**

> so! I mostly just wanted to rewrite Onward, which lead to me deciding to write it all from Barley's point of view rather than Ian's. Ian's always so anxious, and I wanted to try Barley's character out, highlighting a bit more of what he was thinking while everything went on. 
> 
> In the end, his character as I wrote it ended up taking on a more depressive feel to it, but I hope it works?? A few plot points in this are going to change (nothing dramatic, possibly just a few interactions going a bit differently). Other than that, I am going to try and stick close to the plot and mostly focus on Barley's thoughts and feelings, and how it influences how he acts.
> 
> each chapter is going to be a scene, about? though next chapter is going to be some original content in order to fill up Barley's day!
> 
> let me know what you think about it!
> 
> [potato-reblob](https://potato-reblob.tumblr.com/)

If you were to ask Barley about the quest he and his brother had taken, he’d start off by telling you that it all started when Ian finally pulled Dad’s old sweatshirt out of his closet.

Ian, of course, would try to spin you a tale- all based on the letter that Wilden had left them with that magical staff- about magic and it’s past, before it’d eventually faded away into nothing but legends and bedtime stories. Maybe he’d talk about the day that Mom met their dad, or the day that Wilden Lightfoot passed away. Chances were that, in the end, Ian would always say, “I guess you could say that it _really_ started because it was my sixteenth birthday.” 

Everyone always asked Ian about the quest, anyway, so he had room to switch up the story however he pleased. Whatever he wanted to say, he could. If he wanted to leave out the part where he’d lied to the cops, when one of them called Barley a screw-up, he could. And he had, when talking to Mom. He’d left out their mini-fight when they’d popped up in front of the high school, failed to admit what he’d called Barley. 

(Mom was the only one who had asked Barley what happened- besides her boyfriend, Colt, who’d only questioned Barley because he’d had the police called on him, moments before that dragon attacked. When Barely talked to Mom about it, he didn’t talk about the whole screw-up thing, anyway.) 

But, yes. Barley's _sure_ that it all started with that too-soft sweatshirt, because if Barley hadn’t ripped its sleeve, then things might have gone different.

Like, maybe Ian wouldn’t have gotten upset and left. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten mad at Barley, when he picked Ian up after school. Or, maybe, Barley wouldn’t have tried so hard- so _desperately-_ to get the magic staff to work for _him_ and maybe he would have told Ian to try it, while Mom was still in the room.

That wasn’t how it went, though. It didn’t go like that, because Barley’s wrist band had snagged on that old sweatshirt’s frayed shoulder, and had tugged and torn it all up. 

There’d been a point in time, where Barley had entertained the thought that he’d ripped it on purpose. Maybe he’d been so jealous that Ian got _another_ thing of Dad’s, that he’d lashed out and ruined it for Ian like he always does. That wasn’t how _that_ went, of course. 

Barley wouldn’t do that. There was a _story_ behind that sweatshirt and it meant a lot to Ian. 

It’s soft and aged fabric told of cold nights during Dad’s college years, of Mom’s love and affection. She’d thrown it into the wash one-to-many times, starting from when she’d first met him to the day that it was put away into Ian’s closet. It smells like Wilden, somehow, and it smells like Mom’s laundry detergent- the same one she’s been using for years- and now it’s going to smell like Ian and his cologne. 

It’s going to smell just like the three of them, but it’s not going to smell like Barley, no matter how much he used to wear it during his youth. 

That’s okay. 

That’s okay, because Barley had _four_ whole memories of their dad at the time and Ian had none. Ian got to have all of the _physical_ reminders that Dad was someone who used to exist, while Barley gets to _remember, remember, remember._ Ian got to have the recordings of Dad and he got to have the pictures that Mom gave him when he turned seven. Ian got to have Dad’s sweatshirt and his old flannels and his tee-shirts, because at least they kind of fit him, unlike Barley. 

Barley’s memory is going foggy because he’s getting old, so maybe that makes it a little less okay sometimes, but at least he _has_ a memory to cling on to. 

So, that’s why it’s okay that Ian gets all of Dad’s old things. That’s why it’s okay that Dad’s sweatshirt might smell like Ian someday. It’s not like this is about Barley, after all. It’s about Ian, because he _deserves_ to have those reminders of the man he’d never met.

Why should Barley be getting so upset about all of this? He doesn’t have the right to have his feathers all ruffled up when he says, _It started with Dad’s sweatshirt,_ and Ian shakes his head and says, _It started when Dad left us a present for when we were both over sixteen._ This isn’t _Barley’s_ story. This hadn’t been _Barley’s_ birthday, or _Barley’s_ birthday _present._

No, it’d been Ian’s birthday and Ian’s present. The spell had been left so that _Ian_ could meet their dad. The story Barley’s about to tell was all about Ian, because everything is about Ian, and because in the end, Barley was just the mistake that got in the way. 

Well, anyway, he’s getting way off track. 

It all started when Ian took Dad’s sweatshirt out of his closet and pulled it on, not when Dad died or when Mom met him or when Barley broke his arm a few weeks ago. Ian had put it on and he’d walked downstairs to see Mom doing her workout and he’d been ‘attacked’ by their new dragon pet. It’d been all fun-and-games, of course, as Ian and Mom talked and walked into the kitchen. They spoke about Ian’s party-but-not-party, and about his driving lessons that he was supposed to take. 

Then, Ian had walked over to the kitchen table and he’d said, “I’m going to move Barley’s game,” like _Quests of Yore_ wasn’t the solid rock keeping Barley grounded.

So, here’s the deal. Barley likes to _think_ his life is simple. (Well, okay, maybe ‘like’ isn’t the proper word here, because what he’d really _like_ is adventure and danger and _adrenaline_ running through his veins. That wasn’t going to happen, though, or so he’d thought.) The most risky thing he’d done so far before that quest was break his arm- and the whole fountain-thing, but Mom hadn’t known about that at the time- and it hadn’t even been for the first time. 

Barley ghosted through life with the memory of Wilden Lightfoot breathing down on him. Ian always wanted to hear about those _‘three memories’_ that Barley had. Over and over and over, he had gone to Barley and Mom and had asked, _Can you tell me about Dad? What was he like?_

But, even with Dad gone, life still moved on, and so did Barley. He found his new place in his family- he was the man of the house. He was supposed to be a solid presence, and he was supposed to look after Ian, the way that all older brothers do. And, Barley did. He pushed Ian to do better, and he annoyed Mom whenever her mind started to drift back over to Wilden or to the bills that she had to take care of. He caused trouble so that Ian didn’t have to- so that Ian looked like the perfect little angel compared to him. 

_(You’re just a screw-up!)_

Barley did his damned best to hold his world together, because sometimes that was all he could do. It wasn’t like his world wasn’t big. It was just Mom and Ian. (It was old, crumbling fountains and it was legends and myths and stories. It was _Quests of Yore.)_

Unlike what Ian thought, _Quests of Yore_ wasn’t a _game._ It kept Barley from running off to unknown places- from searching out treasures and taking on monsters and fighting off beasts. Barley _knows_ he was made for adventure, deep down-

But he had a family to take care of- a mom and a brother he couldn’t dare to lose and a home he couldn’t bear to leave. If he left, it’d crush Mom. Wouldn’t it? 

It’d crush him, at least. He needed Mom and he needed Ian. He hoped that they needed him too.

It was thoughts like those that kept him in the same ever-looping cycle- the kind of cycle that drove him to take a gap year because he didn’t know what to do with himself, because college wouldn’t be like home, and it wouldn’t be like _Quests of Yore-_ the kind of cycle that kept him awake all through-out high school, wondering if Ian would make it through middle school and if Mom would break down under all the pressure- the kind of cycle that made him do stupid things in order to protect things that weren’t ever really _his._

There’s always the chance that it’s _not_ a cycle, and that Barley’s just scared of change. 

It’s not like he’ll ever admit it out loud. No matter how much trouble he causes, he knows to pick and choose what he bothers his mom with. Like, he won’t ever say that Ian turning _sixteen_ scares him down to the bones, or that Mom’s new boyfriend literally makes him want to tear his hair out. 

Barley’s _nineteen._ Those things shouldn’t scare him. He has a part-time job. He’s supposed to get a girlfriend of his own, even if he’s not too sure if he wants a _boyfriend_ rather than a _girlfriend_ _._

It’s just that the world is changing too fast for Barley. It keeps spinning and spinning, and time keeps moving and moving, and all Barley can do is watch the clock go round and round in circles until it’s three a.m. and his heart is beating so loud it might pop right out of his chest.

But, right. 

Ian says, “I’m going to move Barley’s game,” and then, when Mom urges him not to, he adds, “He needs to learn to take care of his toys.” 

Barley takes that as his cue, rushing into the room and ruining that little domestic scene that was playing out before him, because _Quests of Yore_ is no _silly toy._ They don’t get that- they won’t get that. They’ll never get how much of an escape _Quests of Yore_ is, because Ian has always been practical and a little too stiff, no matter how big his dreams can be.

He’s still stiff, even now, so Barley wraps his arm around his brother and pulls him into a choke hold, talking about _mighty warriors_ and using that play-voice of his. He’s not trying to hurt Ian, he’s only trying to shake him loose like he used to do. Ian’s always been so caught up in his head, so differently than Barley and so much more manageable to Mom. At least Ian thinks about the future and the impact he has on the world.

Barley just thinks about the impact he has on _this_ world, and he always knows it’s not enough. 

“Just- put me down!” Ian wheezes, patting down on Barley’s arm. Mom turns peers around the corner, ignoring the cereal bowl that had apparently fallen to the ground during her boys’ little scuffle, and tells Barley to do as he’s told. 

“Aww,” Barley pouts, moving away as he puts on a bright grin, “c’mon, Ian!” He drops his voice down an octave. “You’re stronger than that! There’s a mighty warrior inside you- you just have to let him out! Mom knows how, look!” 

He moves towards Mom and pulls the same move on her as he did Ian. Mom laughs good naturedly, until Barley plucks her off of her feet and starts moving around. She shouts Barley’s name, but it does nothing to help her as Ian quickly moves behind the counter to get out of their way. When Barley lets Mom’s foot ghost the floor, she grabs a hold of Barley’s arm and rolls him over her shoulder, tossing him down onto the ground so hard that he loses his breath for a moment. 

Making sure not to lose his grin, he breathlessly says, “Good _job,_ Mom.” 

Something swarms in his gut as he lays on the ground, a dark contrast to his cheery disposition. It’s not like Barley doesn’t know that Mom can protect herself. Mom’s _always_ been strong, (both mentally and physically), and she only gets stronger as the days pass. Raising two boys on her own while working too- it’s put a weight on her shoulders. Now that she has her exercise videos to keep her mind occupied and her moves to keep her safe, Barley’s place in her life is slowly slipping. 

Really, though. What does she need him around for, anymore? He’s supposed to be away at college! She’s gotten ready to take care of Ian and have it be the two of them, and all Barley’s doing is grasping at straws. 

Mom tuts, and when she tells Barley to go take out the trash, Barley shoves all of his feelings down and clambers to his feet. Ian shoves something into the toaster as Barley barrels his way outside, pulling up one of his songs in his head to try and quell his mood. It’s never good to let his mind go awry. He has to be present. He has to be here. 

_Where_ is _here?_ he thinks, as he opens the trash can lid outside. With his non-broken arm, he heaves the bag up and into the tin, cursing himself a little for ever hurting it this bad in the first place. His right hand is his _dominant_ hand- the last time he’d broken a bone, it was his left hand. 

Just as he’s closing the lid, he hears, _Barley, Barley, Barley._

His head shoots up. It’s Colt Bronco. 

Colt Bronco never brings good news. Not anymore- and not this time. “Every time I come down here, I have to come and talk to you!” he calls, prancing around Mom’s car and Guinevere, as his hooves stomp on the ground. He says something else, but all Barley can pay attention to is the fact that Mom’s stepping out the door, asking what happened this time, and all he can _do_ is try and play it off like he hadn’t done anything, because disappointing Mom is the last thing that he needs to do right now, because Mom’s so worried about Ian and him having a good day and-

Bronco pulls out his phone and turns the screen to them. He clicks the big triangle _play_ button, and the news clip starts playing. 

“Barley!” Mom cries, watching all about the fountain and the security guards and the workers. 

“They were going to tear it down!” he tries to defend. Mom’s telling Bronco to come inside. He’s not sure she hears him. “It’s a part of this town’s _past,_ Mom-” 

Colt waltzes right past Barley and into their house, after Mom plants a stupid kiss to his lips.That dark something in Barley’s stomach does a triple flip- it always does, when Barley sees Mom and Bronco go around acting like _Mom and Dad._ Bronco’s never going to be his dad- Bronco’s not _nice._ He’s not _Dad_ and he’s not going to be a part of _Barley’s_ family-

But he will, because he makes Mom happy and he makes Mom smile, and if this is what it takes to protect Mom and to let her be like she used to be, then that’s okay. That’s okay, just like it’s okay that Ian’s wearing Dad’s sweatshirt- all grey and old and soft and worn. 

“I swear!” Mom continues, once Bronco nearly tears apart half their kitchen so he can get inside. “You need to stop thinking about this town’s _past_ and more about _your_ future!” 

He _is_ thinking about his future! That’s the thing! He _is,_ he always is. He thinks about what’s going to happen to Ian if Barley ever starts submitting those stupid college papers, how his whole foundation is going to shake if he thinks about _scholarships_ and _professions_ and _majors._ He’s not very good at anything- nothing in class and nothing at home. Being a history buff isn’t the kind of job that’ll get you places, after all. 

But, he thinks about those things. He does. Barley thinks about them and worries about them and doesn’t sleep, sometimes, because there’s a hole eating it’s way through his gut. What’s he going to do? How’s he going to support himself? Is Mom going to be okay, when he goes? His place is already slipping, but who’s to say his absence won’t cause everything to spiral out of control? Will Ian be able to deal with it, if Barley’s not here, anymore? Because Barley’s _always_ been there for Ian, he _has,_ and-

It doesn’t seem like Ian needs him much, anymore, so. 

Yeah. 

Colt says something about Barley’s game, too, in relation to his future. 

“It’s not just a _board_ _game!”_ Barley cries, and it’s not the first time he’s ever had to say this to Bronco, because it just doesn’t get through his stupid, sorry _head-_

Bronco looks at him like he’s stupid, as Barley rounds the table. He just doesn’t understand- he’s just like Ian, saying that it’s just a bunch of toys scattered around the house meant to get in his way, as if Barley’s the _younger_ brother here, as if Barley isn’t nineteen and facing the world head on because- because, because, because. 

He’s getting too lost in his thoughts. It’s not a very good morning. 

_“Quests of Yore_ is a historical role-playing scenario- it’s based on _real life!”_ he stresses, quickly setting back up his campaign, from where Colt had upset it by thumping down into a seat. He talks about centaurs and how fast they used to run, but Colt turns it down, citing that he has a car. 

The frustration of it threatens to suffocate. No one seems to be listening to him- or at least, no one’s taking him seriously. He turns to his younger brother- (he’s grasping at straw after straw, but they’re getting thinner and thinner and harder to find). “You’d like it, Ian! You can be anything you want! A crafty _rouge,_ or- oh! I know!” 

It’s desperation, at this point, that pushes him to scoop up one of the characters and push it into Ian’s face, as his brother spreads jam over the last of the bread. “You could even be a _wizard!”_ he sings, doing a funny sing-song thing with his voice as he says that last word. 

Ian tells him no. 

But, Barley can hear the words that his brother isn't saying. Ian’s getting too _old_ for Barley and his games. He’s _sixteen,_ as of this morning. 

Sixteen year olds don’t have time for annoying older brothers and stupid little kid games, even if _Quests of Yore_ isn’t a kid game- even if Barley isn’t trying to be annoying. He’s just trying to be there for Ian. He’s trying to keep his own life together. Ian’s a _part_ of that life, and-

Ian’s changing. Ian’s growing. 

Barley’s world is slipping.

He’s not really focusing on the rest of the conversation they have, but he carries it none-the-less. He catches himself when Ian plops down with his toast and says, “Be careful. This is Dad’s sweatshirt.” 

It feels like he’s rubbing it in. The words are only more salt in Barley’s stinging wounds. To try and ward off some of that horrible feeling swirling around deep down, Barley laughs and says, “I don’t even remember Dad _wearing_ that sweatshirt.” 

Of course he does, though. He remembers his dad completely- every little part of him, even if it’s starting to fade away like a picture left to battle against the elements. He remembers that sweatshirt, if only because he wishes _he_ was the one who was wearing it- who was smelling Dad, or Mom’s detergent. But, it’s Ian’s now. 

It’s like he said.

“Well,” Ian points out, “you only have like _two_ memories of him.” 

It’s a little joke between them. Barley scoops it up into his hands like it’s dripping water in the middle of a desert, and clings onto it with all he has. 

“Actually,” he returns, pretending like there’s no dark thing in his gut, clawing its way up, up, up, “I have _three._ I remember his beard was scratchy-” -against Barley’s cheek, as Wilden snuggled close to wrap him in a hug- “-and he had a goofy laugh-” -bright against the dark sky, when Barley would rush to his parent’s room after a nightmare and Wilden would comfort him- “-and I used to play drums on his feet.” 

He demonstrates the quick beat that’s plagued him for years. _Bum-ba-da-bum-ba._

Ian laughs. Barley goes to pull away, and-

Something tears. It’s not something deep inside of Barley like he’d originally feared, (even with the memories gripping tight to his bones), but the reality is so much worse. Barley’s bracelet, caught on a stray string on Dad’s dying sweatshirt. He’s pulling at it. He’s _destroying_ one of the few things that Ian has left of Dad, and he doesn’t know if he meant to do it or not, but it makes his heart pound all the same, and all he can think to do is _pull,_ just a little more, because the string will break and everything will be okay if he can fix it-

Mom calls Barley’s name again, and snips the string in two. Ian pulls back once he’s free, like he’s been burned, gripping at the tear that Barley’s made in the grey fabric. His eyes are turning glassy. 

Barley has made an irreversible mistake. He knows that he has, when Ian starts for the front room and says, _I’m just going to pick breakfast up on the way._

He has to fix this. Barley _has_ to. 

“Wait- wait, wait, wait,” he says, hurriedly, stalling Ian at the door. Barley doesn’t even know what he’s thinking about doing, until he’s pulling a plastic sword from their umbrella holder, and he’s pointing it at his brother, pulling the act further and further until one of them breaks. In a fit of panic, he says that he’s got to dub Ian a man today, but deep down, he knows that he just doesn’t want Ian to walk out those doors, because he’s made a mistake, and when Ian gets back, the world will never be the same. “Kneel down before me!” 

“That’s okay-” Ian says, reaching for the door. He doesn’t want whatever it is that Barley’s throwing at him. Barley’s sure he wouldn’t want it either, but he can’t seem to stop. “I’ve got to go.” 

Finally, Barley gets out the one thing he _wants_ to say. “I’ll pick you up later.” 

He doesn’t have any idea why his mouth finishes that with, _and we’ll do the ceremony then,_ but it does, and that’s the final straw and now there’s no more to grab.

Ian walks right out the door.


End file.
